The Story of Steven Taylor
by classicdoctorwhorocks
Summary: Once upon a time, a lonely man named Steven Taylor was grounded on the planet Mechanus for two years. This is his story. Features HiFi as a guest star. Rated T because of paranoia and mention of suicide.


_December_

Steven Taylor was bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. Somehow even the word boring was boring. Always had been. He quickly thought up some interesting words to cheer himself up. Serendipity. Blabbersnitch. Snozzcumber. Ah, much better.

It sounded rather silly in his head. _'Hi, I'm Steven Taylor. My spaceship has crashed on a planet thousands of miles from Earth, and I'm being studied by moving, spherical aliens from outer space. God, it's boring.' _Still, he'd been there for five weeks. Anyone would be bored at five weeks.

He was treated alright, he couldn't deny that. However, he wished greatly for some human company. And HiFi didn't talk much.

He looked down at the little mascot. The panda bear's cloth eyes still had the same old, familiar warmth, and smelt of grandmas and aniseed. However, the smile looked a bit sad that day, as if he had suddenly come to the same conclusion that Steven had. Steven suddenly felt rather guilty for dragging him along.

Then again, it had been his niece who had insisted, saying it wasn't fair that Uncle Steven should go to space but not her. She had made HiFi promise to tell her all about it when he came back. He wondered if HiFi was sad because he'd never get the chance.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. What if someone _did _turn up, and he wasn't able to answer their questions? He racked his brains for all the details they might need.

'My name is Steven Taylor,' he informed the panda toy professionally. 'I am twenty-six years old. I live in Ealing in England, Earth, and I am an astronaut. I crashed at around 5 o'clock on Saturday the fifteenth of November. I have a slight allergy to dust mites, and I've had chickenpox twice.' He felt rather stupid, telling a stuffed panda about himself, but to be honest, he had a feeling that HiFi really couldn't care less.

'He promised himself that he'd say it every now and again, just to be safe.

{DW}

_January_

Hi, my name is Steven Taylor. I am twenty-six years old. I live in Ealing…'

_February_

…England, Earth, and I am an astronaut. I crashed at around… I think it was… might have been Friday the… oh God.'

_April_

'I'm Steven Taylor. I am twenty- um, twenty-six…? Or would it be… oh, sod it!'

_June_

He'd resorted to singing and rhymes. He couldn't tell whether it kept him sane or sent him in the other direction, but it was something to fill the empty room.

He was sitting on the flat roof with HiFi, having constructed a staircase, which he was rather proud of. True, it looked like something he'd made as a little boy in woodwork class, but it was a chance to feel the breeze on his face again. Even if the sky was a bit… pink.

'Mary had a little lamb,' he sang quietly.  
His fleece was white as snow,  
And everywhere that Mary went,  
Her lamb was sure to go!'

He looked at HiFi - who was looking a little tired – and came up with an idea. He began to sing again.

'Steven had a little bear.  
His paws were black as soot.  
And everywhere that Steven went  
His sooty foot he put!'

He chuckled at his own wit. HiFi didn't laugh. Steven thought that if he were HiFi, he wouldn't laugh much either.

_August_

He couldn't remember any songs anymore. He realized, halfway through a rendition of 'Postcards From a Young Man' by the Manic Street Preachers, that he could no longer remember the lyrics. And the melody was quickly fading from his mind.

He cried. He felt pathetic; a full-grown man, with a degree in Physics, blubbering like an infant because he couldn't remember the words to a song.

And yet, like so many crazy things in his life, it felt very logical indeed.

_November_

It was about one year since he'd crashed, he supposed. The Mechanoids (That was what they were called) had extended his privileges, after realizing he had no intentions of running away. They left mush of various colours next to the sliding door. He didn't know how, because the doors never opened. He was allowed to use scissors to cut his own hair, which had grown impressively, and he also shaved with a razor.

He had started putting off cutting his hair, because whenever he looked at the scissors, he began to think things. Like whether it would really hurt so much if he… just one swipe…

No. He couldn't. If he was to stay for anyone, it would be HiFi. After all, he'd been such great company for so long. He couldn't just leave him alone, for the elements to eat away those cloth eyes which were so cold, but yet so familiar as well.

Yes, for HiFi. He had to stay for HiFi.

_January_

He couldn't remember what his mother had looked like.

_February_

_His dear sister's face had sunk into shadows of what she was and could be._

_March_

He didn't want them to go. Why did they go?!

_April_

He was crying. It wasn't the usual, quiet, manly weeping which he'd usually do. This was a howl of unexplainable anguish and lonelieness.

He though HiFi was crying too. He wasn't too sure.

He could suddenly remember the lyrics to that song.

_May_

He'd seen new creatures. They looked a bit like dustbins. Like at home. Ealing. England. Earth. Ealing.

_June_

He wanted so badly to jump. But he had to stay, for HiFi.

_July_

What had HiFi stood for again? High Fidelity? Hugh Felicity?

_August_

God, he was a mess. He had to cut his hair.

But then he started thinking it. Just one swipe. Please.

_September_

His niece Daisy-Mae would be going to school soon.

Was that her name? Or was it Lily? Or Pondweed? No, not pondweed.

How he wished he could see her face.

_October_

Forget Daisy-Mae (if that was what she'd been called). Give him _any_ face. Give him a bug-eyed monster, and he'd be happy.

_November_

He was on the roof when he heard voices. He ran down his stairs, and saw them. God, they were beautiful.

The first he saw was a white-haired man, with cunning eyes, and odd clothes. The next was just a girl. A bit older than Daisy-whatever-she-was-called. The others were a man and a woman. The man, who was eyeing Steven distrustfully, was guarding the woman.

Steven quickly tried to remember all that he'd planned. But it had been a year. God knows what he was now. Instead, he chose something which he could always be, something he would always be no matter what he'd become.

'I'm Steven Taylor.'

'_I'll send you postcards every single day,_

_Just to prove I still exist._

_This world will not impose its will._

_I will not give up and I will not give in_

_And I will not give up and I will not give in…'_

_**Manic Street Preachers**_


End file.
